hot_chocolate
smurfus rex
...
"I think it was Dale Carnegie who asked, 'What would you do if you werenít afraid?' I think itís funny that a book I read as a freshman in college still comes to mind after, Lord, eight years. Ever since I read that book, that question pops in my head whenever Iím faced with some risky or unfamiliar situation that demands action. I just think itís interesting."
He felt responsible for keeping the conversation moving, and was digging up anything and everything to avoid a silent end to the meal. He shifted his steamed vegetables around on his plate again, trying to spread them out to make it look like he had eaten more than he had. He took another sip from his glass and grinned across the table. He didnít know where else to go with his memory of Dale Carnegie.
"So, what would *you* do, if you werenít afraid?" She could sense his uneasiness and wished that she could reassure him that there was nothing to be nervous about. They had had coffee several times already, and this was their second dinner date. She smiled at the expression on his face; he looked so cute with that sheepish grin and she couldnít help but think that he must have a stomach full of butterflies. A rosy red blush was sure to follow.
"Well, actually, if I hadnít asked myself that very question the first night we sat down for coffee, I wouldnít be sitting here right now," he began. "I was a little hesitant about having more than coffee with you a couple of days ago, and now weíre just finishing our second dinner together. I guess all I can say with certainty is that I know what I could have done if I had asked myself that question back then. From where I am now, I suppose anything is possible."
She had hoped for something a little more specific. However, she also knew enough about him to expect such an answer. She nodded in approval and signaled the waitstaff for the check. He pulled out his wallet and left more than enough to cover the bill and the tip. He helped her with her coat and they left the restaurant to face the brisk December night.

They had chosen that restaurant because it sat only a couple of blocks away from her apartment. As they returned to her building, the cold night air spurred them to walk quickly and limited the focus of their brief conversation to the relief they would feel when they got back inside. It was only when they finally entered the foyer of her apartment building that he realized he was about to face another Dale Carnegie situation.
"Would you like to come up for a bit for some hot chocolate or something?" she asked innocently.
"Oh, man, that would be great! I love hot chocolate, especially on a night like this," he answered, blowing warm air through his knit gloves. He was relieved somewhat, because it appeared to him that a cup of hot chocolate wasnít too much to be afraid of. If she had said wine, on the other hand...
Her building had six floors and her apartment was on the top. As they ascended on the elevator, she found herself scanning him up and down. He had a casual way of dressing for an evening, somewhere between a night at the theater and a night at home. She could tell he liked contrasts; in fact, she could hardly ignore it. Matte black slacks and a black suede jacket surrounded his thick white sweater. He had stuffed his black knit gloves into his pockets by this time, but even his black calfskin boots had small winks of chrome on the tips. She suspected that he was unaware of just how delicious he looked at that moment.
The elevator doors opened on the sixth floor and he held them as she got off. She had removed her city coat before they got on the elevator, fortunately for him, and he found himself following the landscape of her body as she lead the way to her apartment. Her loosely curled brown hair cascaded just below her shoulders, hiding the nape of her neck. Her charcoal dress showed off her natural curves and came to about mid-thigh, a blurry distinction between conservative and exciting. He smiled slightly as he followed her black hose to her black heels. She had chosen a pair that would accent her legs without compromising her stability. He wondered if she dressed this way for every dinner date, or just theirs.
The jingle of her keys snapped him back to attention. She opened the door to her corner apartment and asked him to pardon the mess. As he walked through the doorway, he noticed several things: soft and inviting furniture, pen and ink prints on the walls, large, leafy plants by the windows, the subtle, sweet hint of incense...but no mess. It wasnít a sterile show home, by any means, but it looked lived in, which made him feel more at ease. She offered to hang his coat in the closet, and he gladly accepted. She liked her apartment warm, and he had a few too many layers to remain comfortable for long.
She asked if he would mind if she changed, to which he shook his head. In her absence, he took the opportunity to tour her living room. He squeezed the arm of the couch. It was one of those couches that was soft enough to need only a blanket to become a bed. He felt the underside of the coffee table and was pleased to find it solid wood. He didnít know enough about wood to determine whether it was pine or oak or cherry, but he did know that it was dark, heavy, and wasnít going to fall apart anytime soon. He ran his hand over the leaf of an elephant-ear plant by the picture window and along the bark of a slender palm tree in the corner. Thankfully, he thought, these were not silk plants. He completed his survey by turning his attention to the walls. They were painted to look like adobe, he thought, and not dark enough to dominate the room. Four Olivia prints hung above the couch. He noticed that each face was drawn in similar fashion: a single blue eye and crimson lips peeking from beneath a curled lock of hair. The fourth print was drawn so that she was biting her lower lipÖand he decided he liked that one best. Opposite the couch was an enormous pen and ink drawing of Egyptian imagery. He felt one corner of the drawing and realized that the pressure strokes and coloration were real. This was no print, and looking at the coffee table and the plants, he wasnít surprised. His knowledge of Egyptian mythology was not extensive enough to understand the whole drawing, but he thought he recognized a few figures. He saw falcon-headed Horus and jackal-headed Anubis. The symbol of the Eye of Ra had been superimposed on a sun, and he thought two of the human figures might be Isis and Osiris. There were other figures in various positions, poses and locations, but he would have needed a book to tell who they were. What struck him especially was that this painting was not done like a fresco in a pyramid, but rather like a collage of portraits. He didnít see a signature anywhere, but whoever the artist was, he or she was in the same league as Boris Vallejo, Christos Achilleos, or the Hildebrandts. He wondered if this artist did dragons...
His attention was swept away from the drawing as she reappeared from her bedroom. His ears warmed slightly when he saw her, for she had changed into an oversized sweatshirt and shorts. She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail and he noticed she had traded her black hose for white socks as she padded into the kitchen.
"I donít know how you like your hot chocolate, but I donít use those packets," she announced.
Curious, he walked over to the kitchen doorway. "Oh really?" he began, "I didnít know there were other ways to do it."
"Oh dear, youíve been sheltered," she laughed as she pulled a carton of milk and a bottle of chocolate syrup from her refrigerator. "Let me show you how itís really done." She poured the milk into a small saucepan and turned on the stove. "It takes a little longer this way, but it sure does taste better."
He pursed his lips at the thought and decided she was probably right. He had always made his in the microwave, which meant it didnít stay hot for very long. His eyes flicked over to the bottle of chocolate syrup and he suspected it would make quite a difference in the taste.
"Itís kind of quiet in here, doní t you think?" she asked as she brushed past him as she went over to the stereo. She had a nice system and obviously took pride in how she listened to her music. Satisfied with her selection from the CD changer, she pushed play and he instantly recognized it. It was "A Thousand Years", from Stingís Brand New Day album. The low bass drone of the introductory track was unmistakable, particularly since he owned this same CD. He smiled in approval, and she decided it would be unnecessary to ask if it was okay.
"So, how did you learn to make hot chocolate like this?" he asked, jumpstarting the conversation.
"I worked in a coffee shop for a while, and this is how we did it. We used steamed milk instead, but itís pretty much the same idea," she replied as she reached for two large mugs from the cabinet. He glimpsed a flash of her bare stomach as she stretched for the top shelf and filed the image away for later. This cup of hot chocolate was getting better and better, and he hadnít even tasted it yet.
She decided to give him a tour of her apartment while the milk was heating up. They journeyed from room to room and she told him the story of even the smallest item that caught his interest. They squeezed and sat on every cushion and mattress she had, stroked and smelled every leaf and petal, paged through her library, and analyzed her gallery. They had a discussion of music history in front of her CD collection, compared the texture differences of silk and cotton in her closet, and listed the merits and flaws of urban sprawl in front of her picture window. She stopped short, however, when she heard a soft bubbling in the background. The milk was ready.
She pulled the saucepan off the burner to cool some. She took two spoons from the silverware drawer and squeezed chocolate syrup into each mug. She thumbed the excess off the cap and wiped it playfully on his lips. He raised an eyebrow in response, and licked his lips clean.
"Now that I think about it," he said, picking up the bottle, "I think Iíd like a little more syrup in mine," and he gave the bottle one quick squeeze into his mug. He wiped the excess off with his finger and dabbed it on her cheekbone.
"No fair! I canít lick that off!" she smiled.
What would you do if you werenít afraid, he thought, and leaned over to kiss it off her cheek. Her eyes closed and her ears warmed at the touch of his lips. She gave silent thanks that he was not a wet and sloppy kisser as her breath caught in her throat.
She shook her finger at him as he pulled away. "You better watch it, boy. Youíre liable to get into trouble," she laughed, and reached for the saucepan. As she filled each mug, she kept an eye on the chocolate bottle, both to make sure he didnít pick it up again and to plot her revenge. She put the saucepan in the sink and the spoons in the mugs and invited him to join her in the living room. She curled up in a corner of the couch and began stirring. He sat his mug on the coffee table and sank into the cushion. As he sat forward to stir his hot chocolate, he noticed that, not only had the cold worn off, but also that he was getting hot.
"Do you mind if I take my sweater off? Iím getting pretty warm," he asked of his hostess.
"Oh no, not at all. Do you need me to turn it down a little?"
"No, Iím not that hot, just that this sweater is a little much," he replied.
Yeah, right, youíre not that hot, she thought, taking the statement out of context. And Iím wearing shorts because itís warm in here.
He stood up and took his sweater off. She smiled at the sight of him with his hair rumpled and sticking up from the static electricity. She liked the long sleeved T-shirt he wore underneath. It wasnít loose enough to hide his upper body development, but also not tight enough to show his muscular definition. She watched as he folded his sweater neatly and placed it on the cushion of her loveseat. He sat back down and stirred his still-steaming hot chocolate.
"So tell me about this drawing of yours," he said, and nodded toward the Egyptian collage. She brightened at the request, and moved closer to him, presumably so he could follow where she was pointing. Luckily, she started with the ones he recognized: Horus, Anubis, Isis, and Osiris. She continued with the ones in the background, those with whom he was less familiar: Bast, Ptah, Nephthis, Thoth, Sekhmet, Sobek, Set, Maat, Imhotep and Hatshepsut. She told him that the artist chose to show Amun-Ra in the sun, as he had suspected earlier. She retold each short biography with earnest energy, but he had trouble concentrating on them. The fragrance of her hair and perfume, the nearness of her body, the static charge of her excitement, and the hot ceramic cup in his hands were all equally and separately distracting his attention. He was sorry there wasnít another dab of chocolate on her cheek.
"There was one god who was always portrayed with an erect penis, but Iím glad he decided to leave that one out," she revealed, just as he was taking a sip. He sputtered and choked, spraying chocolate foam into his face. He blushed as she snickered at him, and assured himself that she thought he was a complete fool now.
"Sorry about that," he coughed, and tried to wipe the spatters off the coffee table.
"Donít worry about it, it wonít stain," she smiled. "I guess I could have waited before I spouted that one off. Aw, youíve got chocolate on your face," she observed with a devilish grin.
"Oh, well, I--", he was cut short in his attempt to wipe his face as she leaned over and kissed a spot off his cheek. His eyes widened with each bit of foam that she removed. She pulled the mug out of his hands and set it on the coffee table. He closed his eyes as she made her way around the right side of his face to his chin. He felt tiny laps around his mouth, then a slow trace across his bottom lip. She turned his head to the right and targeted the chocolate on his left side. His bottom lip began to quiver as she worked her way back to his upper lip and across. Satisfied that she had gotten it all, she pulled back and looked into his eyes. He fixed his eyes on hers with a gaze that challenged her to blink.
She tried valiantly, but she couldnít maintain it. She dropped her gaze and giggled, "I canít hold it anymore!"
"I must look like a chocolate Ronald McDonald, huh?" he smiled, as she lifted her head.
"Something like that," she giggled, and then spotted a fleck on his jaw line. She leaned in and dragged the flat of her tongue across his jaw back to his chin.
"Jeez, I...got it everywhere...didnít I?" he stuttered.
"Mmm-hmmm..." she replied, continuing along the other side of his jaw and down his neck. He shivered as she pulled the collar of his shirt aside so she could get to his shoulder. She retraced her path back up to his earlobe.
"Just making sure I get all the chocolate off," she whispered, and gently sucked his earlobe into her mouth.
Oh god, not my earlobe, he thought, clenching his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut. She felt his jaw muscle tighten against her cheek and chuckled in amusement. She ran her fingers up the nape of his neck and held him in place. Oh my freak, not the back of my neck too, he shuddered, as she began nibbling, She dragged her nails down his neck and up again, moaning softly while continuing to work on his earlobe. A low, rumbling purr escaped him.
"Ooh, I love purring," she cooed, still holding fast to his earlobe.
"I only do that when certain sweet spots are triggered...I canít help it," he explained, as she released his earlobe and traced her tongue along the outside edge of his ear. He sucked in his breath and clenched his teeth again while her tongue darted around the immediate inside. She dragged her nails slowly down his back, and he shivered as she pulled them back up and across his neck. She ran her fingers through his hair one more time before putting her hands on his shoulders and pulling back. As she did so, the fragrance of her hair and body lotion wafted in the air between them. She scanned his face for any traces of chocolate that she missed, and bit her lower lip as she examined his mouth. His eyes widened at this, and he realized he would have to wash his hands before he returned any of her favors. She giggled at his anxious fidgeting, "You wanna wash those now?"
"Yeah," he breathed. "It, um, wouldnít hurt..."
"Okay, Iíll wait," she offered.
"I mean, Iíd hate to make your hair sticky..."
"Oh?" she smiled.
"With chocolate, anyway," he winked.
She laughed. "Better hurry then," and he took off for the kitchen sink. She watched him as he hastily rinsed his hands, but he turned around before she could avert her eyes again. Busted, she thought. He saw the look in her eyes and grinned. He turned around slowly so she could finish. Completing his rotation, he motioned for her to stand. When she did, he walked behind her. My turn, he thought. She blushed and spun around to face him.
"You know," he began, "my best friend and I had a code name for booties like yours."
"And that was?" she winced.
"Cinnamon rolls."
"And that means?" she cocked her head. That wasnít the answer she expected.
He licked his lips and smiled, "Whenís the last time you had a cinnamon roll?"
Oh my god, she thought, beginning to make the connection. "Um..."
"Take that taste," he continued, "and make it visual." He grinned as she bit her lip again.
"I think I need to sit down," she sighed, and curled back up on the couch, on the middle cushion this time. He joined her and picked his mug back up, stirring it absently.

"Remember those pictures you showed me before?" she said after a few minutes. "I love the one with you and the katana." She had taken the initiative and leaned against his shoulder.
"Really? I got that from my best friend. I didnít think that was one of the better pictures, though."
"I thought it was. I think itís the look of reverence in your eyes that does it for me."
"It was a totally unexpected gift, and I have a great love of samurai culture. Come to think of it, I still havenít been able to get those cords around it retied."
"The color of that shirt looks really good on you too."
"Blue is actually my favorite color, and that has become my favorite dress shirt," he paused and took a drink from his mug. "You know whatís funny?"
"Whatís that?" she answered.
"This isnít something I usually do," he said.
"And what is 'this', exactly?" she asked.
"I donít usually go up to a womanís apartment and get chocolate licked off my face," he replied, "among other things."
"Oh," she deflated slightly.
"I think youíre a 'bad' influence on me," he smiled.
"I am. I admit it. We can stop if youíre uncomfortable," she trailed a finger along his arm, "I wouldnít want you to go back on your standards for me."
"I didnít mention being uncomfortable," he reassured her. "And if I didnít want to, I wouldnít be here right now. Thatís the funny part...I usually avoid situations like this."
"In that case, Iím flattered and honored that you have decided to join me," she turned slightly as he tried to readjust himself without being obvious.
"A little constricted, are we?" she grinned.
"Um, yes, you might say that," he blushed.
"Is any of that, um, my fault?"
"Only about this much," he spread his hands wide.
"Oh." Good, she thought, as she shifted in her seat.
"Might I ask the same of your 'state'?" he asked.
"All you," she answered, smiling.
They remained on the couch for several minutes, finishing their hot chocolate. Both of them would disagree that they needed hot chocolate to warm them up now.
"Come with me," she said, sitting up and putting her empty cup on the table.
"Where are we going?" he asked, putting his cup next to hers.
She stood up and held out her hand. "I want to show you something."
He wasted no time with questions, and took her hand to follow. She led him to the picture window in her bedroom, stood in front of him and pulled his arms around her. They looked out on the city, which was a little less frenetic than earlier. He hugged her tighter, feeling the cooler air around the window despite the warm room.
"Wish I had a view like this. City looks so much more peaceful up here," he remarked.
"Hang tight, Iíll make it better," she pulled out of his arms and went across the room to turn off the light. The glare on the window disappeared and the city outside became brighter. She brushed up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He felt her head lean against his back and realized he was the only one looking at the city. He clasped his arms over hers and swayed gently.

How long they stood in front of the window, neither of them could tell. After a few minutes or hours, she disengaged from the embrace and encouraged him to keep looking out the window. He heard rustling behind him and tried to catch a glimpse of what she was doing in the reflection of the window. However, with the room darkened and the city lights in front of him, he got no help from the window. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him and he turned to look behind him. He saw her shadowy form reclined a bit on her bed and, in the darkness, he was no longer sure just how much she was wearing. She struck a match, and the flash illuminated her briefly as she lit a single candle beside her bed. She smiled as he traced her body with his eyes, pausing now and again to admire the upper and lower patches of black satin that hugged against her. She motioned for him to join her on the bed. He opened his mouth to speak, but she hushed him with a single finger on his lips. She placed that same finger under his chin and drew his face to hers. Their eyes closed, their breaths held in anticipation, and then...*electricity*.
He could not deny that he was relatively inexperienced when it came to women. He had had perhaps two serious girlfriends in his life, so what expertise he possessed came not from variety, but from practice. Nevertheless, in that instant, to compare the kisses of his past to the one in which he was presently engaged would have been like comparing lightning bugs to lightning.
She had had enough dating relationships to know fairly quickly whether or not the man she was with was going to work out. Through her experiences, she had become what she liked to call a connoisseur of kisses, and in an instant, she found a vintage. It was unusual to find one at such an age as his, and she silently celebrated her good fortune.
They drew back and caught their breaths. They gazed at the candle flames reflected in each otherís eyes. This time, there was no blinking. This time, there was no looking away. He grinned wide as she bit her lower lip, and then moved in again.
As he trickled down the right side of her neck and on to her shoulder, he trailed a single fingertip up her spine. She shivered briefly and sighed as he moved to her left side. Halfway to her shoulder, his finger descended to the midpoint of her back. She felt the satin tighten briefly, then a slight pop as the clasp unfastened. Heís done this before, she thought, feeling his fingertip finish its journey to the small of her back. He returned to her lips and guided her down to the mattress.
He then began a slow and agonizingly methodical trek over the landscape of her body. He lifted off her bra and tossed it over his head as he followed a path that looped and doubled back and paused in choice locations from her collarbone to the elastic of her satin thong. He watched goosebumps ripple across her skin and he lifted his head to hold her eyes once more before grasping the waistband with his mouth and continuing down. He inched the waistband down bit by bitÖfirst the right hip, then the left hip, then the center. She squirmed as he progressed, and gasped slightly as he feathered her skin with his fingertips. He raised up to a sitting position as he pulled the satin over her ankles. Her eyes widened as he crouched back down, nudging each leg slightly as he moved in closer. She opened herself in invitation and felt funny things in her stomach as he grinned evilly at her. Her breathing hastened as he continued his silken approach.
In her mind, she saw butterflies alighting and taking off. She saw a feather flutter on her left, then her right, above her, below her, and across her. She saw the dew on a flower condense, collect, and trickle off the petals. She was pulled back to her bedroom as he drew the flat of his tongue from the bottom to the top of her, forcing a moan from her lips. He raised his head slightly to look at her face. Bliss was her only expression, squinting her eyes shut and dragging her tongue across her upper lip.
A warm breath of air signaled his return. First, a peck, and she gasped. Then, a kiss, and she groaned. Then, a patient, deep French kiss, and she moaned. Her hips began to move slightly and she clutched at the sheets. He pulled away, trailing the tip of his tongue against the top of her, before spying her private button. Her breath sucked in as he surrounded it with his lips and flicked it lightly. Her fingers ran softly through his hair and her hips moved in a slow rhythm. She sighed as the random touches developed into a pattern.
An introductory A...
A patient B...
An easy C...
A lazy D...
A flicking E...her sighs turned to soft moans...
A cursive F...
A sweeping G...
A painterís H...her moans turned to whimpers, with occasional cries to the gods...
A falling I...
A dripping J...
A cotton K...her whimpers turned gasps as she clenched the sheets...
A wandering L...
A downy M...and a drawn out whimper...
A smooth N...
A spiraling O...one circuit...two...three...as she accelerated toward orgasm...
A top-heavy P...her hips pushed up against him, her fingers stiffened in his hair...
A curly Q...her head tossed from side to side as her body pulled taut...
A walking R...his fingers traced feather-light trails along the sides of her stomach...
A serpentine S...slithering up and down, back and forward, his fingers matching the motions, as she screamed to the gods in between gasps...
A lofty T...the tops of his fingernails trailed over her ribs as she pushed against his head...
A swinging U...she grasped his wrists and pulled upward, his fingertips spread apart and glided over her skin...
A powdery V...she squirmed hard underneath him and tried to bring him up to her...
A rounded W...his hands rotated and grasped her wrists, (thereís no going back now)...
A slashing X...once...twice...three times...she whimpered with each stroke...
An undulating Y...her orgasms were without pause...
A tickling Z...traced back and forth, once and again, a butterfly took flight, and she gasped...
He raised his head and arched an eyebrow in her direction. Her eyes pleaded with him, and he darted forward to press a French kiss against her lips, almost as deep as the last one. She whimpered again and he released her wrists. Her hands flew to the back of his head, pressing him to her. She moved her body under him in invitation, and it was then that they realized he was still clothed.
Her eyes begged for the very thing her hands were uncovering, as she worked his waistband down. She pushed his pants the rest of the way off as she pulled his shirt over his head. She ran her hands up and down his chest, feeling the contours she could only imagine earlier. She took one hand back to the familiar territory of the back of his neck and let the other gently and lovingly explore the new territory down under. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut as she pulled his head to hers, licking his lips again. He shivered as she ran her hand up and down her fascinating new discovery. He whimpered quietly as she tried to decide whether to feel him or taste him.
Her hips decided for her, straining toward him of their own accord. His began to maneuver on their own as well. She pressed his lips to hers, parting them enough to let her tongue explore his, as her hands pressed on the small of his back. His tongue initiated a dance, which she joyfully joined as she breathed in his air. He submitted to the press from behind, and she moaned into his mouth as he entered. He returned the moan as she surrounded him. He eased in to the hilt and twitched as her inner muscles grasped him and held him in place for a moment. She dragged her fingernails lightly up and down his back while he moved from her lips to her neck. She squealed softly when he purred in her ear, and traced small circles on the nape of his neck.
He lifted his hips to draw himself back and pressed down again. She arched her back and threw her head back as her hips lifted to meet his. She felt an ache within her that was satisfied only by his lifting and pressing. He nipped at her earlobes as she dragged her nails across his back again, trying not to dig in. He nipped a little harder each time, and she responded by digging in a little more each time. Her body tried to move even closer to him, to become part of him, as he wrapped an arm under her arched back. He drew her up into a sitting position, holding her around the small of her back and tracing her spine into her hair. She began a circular motion with her hips, smiling into his eyes as his fingers wandered through her hair.
His hand grasped the back of her head, his eyes narrowed, and a guttural growl escaped his lips. He bent his head down and inhaled the body heat they produced, pulling her closer. She made a soft cry to the gods as he did so, and put her hands on his shoulders to steady her as she bent her head to kiss him. He lifted his head to meet hers and she began rocking and twisting her hips rhythmically. He fell into the rhythm and breathed in time with her. A slight glow began to radiate from the two as their energy rose. She growled softly, running her fingers through his hair and taking his tongue between her lips. The two pressed harder against each other, hips rocking with abandon.
His spine melted and he fell backward, bringing her down with him. His hands flowed down her back and came to rest on her rear, squeezing just enough to hold on. She pushed up on his chest, pinning him to the mattress. He slid a hand up her back and pulled her down to him, trying to achieve full-body contact. She melted into him, the sensation forcing a moan from him. He ran his fingers up her sides, from hips to breasts to arms to hands, finally interlocking his fingers with hers at the end of his reach. Their motions became synchronized, their breaths, their heartbeats melded with each other. Minutes became seconds, seconds became moments, and moments became endless.
He swirled his fingertips over her glistening skin as his hips began to grind. She moaned in response, matching his hungry fever with her own. He brought her face close to his, fixing her eyes with strange, wild gaze. He grinned just before rolling quickly to the right, assuming the superior position. She giggled and pretended to struggle for a moment, then allowed herself to be pinned and totally at his mercy. He pressed close, moving only his hips and leaning down close to her ear.
"Katya," he whispered, clasping her hands and beginning a steady, deep rhythm. "Are you ready?"
She gripped his hands and clenched her inner muscles in response, increasing the pressure with each stroke. The tempo increased slowly...2/2Ö4/4Ö6/6Ö8/8Öand her moaning turned to howling. Their glow soon rivaled the intensity of the candle flame, as she took in his energy, magnified it, and returned it to him, only to repeat it again. She opened all of her light centers, taking everything he had to give and again returned it. Their moaning, breathing, singing, fell into a rhythm as a tingling sensation rushed from the edges of their skin inward to the center. They merged at last, becoming one body, their hearts pounding in unison. Their muscles tensed as they exploded in a flash of light, a flash that ended one universe and created another...

"Are you okay?" she whispered. The candlelight glinted off the moisture at the corners of her eyes.
"Sublime," was all he could manage.
She looked up, a little surprised, "Really?"
"Yes, really. Superb," his vocabulary was coming back.
"This has been quite a wonderful night weíve spent together," she observed.
He looked over at her alarm clock. "I agree...and a great morning."
"Yes, good morning," she smiled, and stuck her tongue out at him. She snuggled up against him and laid her head on his chest. He buried his face in her hair and sighed contentedly.
"You know, itís been awhile since Iíve, you know..." he stammered.
"I wouldnít have known it if you hadnít said anything, but I can tell you this, Iíve never had such an awesome experience as this one. Puts everything else Iíve done to shame, which is saying a lot," she explained, tracing patterns on his chest.
Damn, he thought, feeling another blush coming. "Whatís going to happen now?"
"Well, I hope it only gets better. Iím going to like having you around," she answered.
He kissed the top of her head. "Good," he said, "I was hoping you would feel that way, because I think Iíve been spoiled."
She smiled and nuzzled a little closer.
...

hides
031207
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smurfus rex O god of formatting, why do you mock me so? 031207
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speechless . 031207
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magicforest i_love_you

you are the new eyedreamism smurfus and for that I both hate and adore you
031207
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smurfus rex I can't hold a candle to the eyedreamism series.

Not by far.

But thank you. I was afraid to put it up here.
031207
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magicforest I have come to realize that my eyedreamisms suck (I am not fishing for praise) and that I created sentimental beastly pieces which I would delete if I had the chance. I have no brain. I am never writing again. Why isn't your email up? How am I supposed to message you you dolt? 031208
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smurfus rex you created a series of episodes for a short indie film about a few days in the lives of two people who are very into each other. They are not without value, as you can tell from the posts about them, because some people can identify with the characters you created...therein lies your magic.

As for this story, it just came to me one night (as I understand eyedreamism i did to you). I don't know if I have any other episodes in me as far as these two characters are concerned.

And as for my email, well, I fixed that in this post, and as far as I remember, this is the only one I have put it in. :)

is no longer a dolt...;)
031208
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f the French arn't that bad afterall, not wanting to fight is a good thing not a coward thing.

Elegance is something special just take out bit of attitude thats all.

i'm a racist.
070906
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